Irish’s shotgun blast caught the boomer in the face. It exploded, covering all four in its bile. They knew that, within a minute, the boomer bile would attract a horde of zombies to them. Wildcat knew that they had a more immediate problem, however. The hunter was till out there and it was close. He tried to wipe the bile out of his eyes, while still scanning the area for the hunter.
Though he couldn’t see it, he was able to hear it growling, getting ready to pounce. Blindly, he aimed his rifle at the sound and fired. Either he missed it, or his shot didn’t do too much damage to it. He felt it land hard on his chest as it began clawing at him. All he could do was pray that the others could get a clear shot at it before it killed him.
Trojan rubbed the back of his head. He had obviously fallen, beacause he was laying on the ground, but for a few seconds, he couldn’t remember how he had gotten there. It all came back when he saw the witch stepping over his prone body. Looking up, he saw the witch run after the man who shot it. .The witch reached him and, within seconds, he was on the ground.
Rebel, Rocket, and Panther all shot the witch as it stood over Bobby and mauled him. Eventually, all of the shots felled it. Trojan could tell from the amount of blood that the man had not survived , but Rebel ran over to him anyways. He stood up and walked over to her. Bending down, he picked up Bobby’s pistol. She looked at Trojan with surprise as he tried to hand the gun to her.
“If you don’t want him to come back as one of them, you’ll have to shoot him in the head now,” he said.
Rebel shoved the gun back at him. She wanted to say something, or anything, to Trojan to let him know how insensitive he was being, but no words came to her. Trojan shrugged and tucked the pistol into the waistband of his jeans in the back.
“Trust me,” he began, “I know how hard this must be for you, but if you’re not going to shoot him, we need to get out of here. I don’t know how long it takes for someone to turn into one of those things, and I sure don’t want to find out.”
“But he’s my boyfriend,” Rebel finally managed to speak.
“Not anymore, he isn’t. He’s one of them waiting to happen. It’ll be hard enough if he comes back as one of the regular ones, but what if he comes back as one of the specials? Will you still be reluctant to shoot him if he comes back as a smoker, or a hunter, or a tank?”
“I don’t know what any of those things are!”
“I’ll tell you, but not here. We’ve got to get somewhere safe before we chat.”
Rebel still seemed reluctant to leave, but her sister grabbed her hand and began leading her away. Trojan started walking after them. Rocket walked over to Bobby’s corpse, pulled out his pistol, and fired a round into his head. “I never liked you anyways, you asshole” he said after he turned to follow the others.
Bulldog shoved the hunter off of Wildcat. Now, it turned its attention towards her. Before it could pounce on her, Irish hit it with another burst from his shotgun. The hunter finally died. She helped Wildcat to his feet, while Spartan helped Irish to his. “Everyone ok,” she asked.
“I’m all right,” Irish answered. “I just got the wind knocked out of me.”
“It scratched the hell out of me,” Wildcat replied, “but I’ll live.”
“Let me put some bandages on that,” Bulldog offered.
“We don’t have much time before the horde shows up.”
“Then I better be quick,” she said with a sly grin. “Besides, I’ve come too far to die now because your hurt ass is slowing us down.”
“Your concern is touching,” he returned with a grin of his own.
“Shit,” Spartan swore. “Here they come!”
The zombies were coming at them from further up the highway. Irish and Spartan both looked at Wildcat, who pointed behind them with his thumb. “We were going to go back and look for Trojan anyways. Now, with these bastards in the way, we have our excuse.”
“What about them,” Irish asked, gesturing at the approaching zombies.
Wildcat pulled out his lighter and lit it. Irish and Spartan each pulled bottles out of their packs. He touched his lighter to the rags hanging out of each of the bottles. With that, they flung their Molotov cocktails at the horde.
“That’s right, boys,” Wildcat said. “Let it rain fire.”